


5,4,3,2,1

by thequirkyotter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Caring John, Caring John Watson, Doctor John Watson, First Kiss, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, John is a Good Friend, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Sherlock has a panic attack, Sherlock is a Mess, quite a bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequirkyotter/pseuds/thequirkyotter
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has panic attacks and he's always been ashamed of them. Lucky for him John has never seen him have one and he's managed to keep John successfully in the dark about it. Until now.A short ficlet about how John Watson helps Sherlock Holmes through a panic attack.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 99





	5,4,3,2,1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic! Kudos and comments as well as feedback are much appreciated.

He wasn’t quite sure what had brought it on. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table looking at samples of soil through his microscope. He would much rather be solving an actual case, but there were none and John was at work. He was quite certain he would go mad from boredom if he did not keep himself occupied and he _was_ making an effort to quit smoking. He got up to stretch his legs and make himself a cup of tea when he felt something was wrong. He felt afraid--no it was more than that. It was panic. 

Oh no. 

Not again. This hadn’t happened in so long and John just being there had helped. 

John. 

What would he think, seeing Sherlock in such a state? Sherlock tried to calm himself down but it didn’t help. He couldn’t shake the feeling of fear and panic, that something terrible was happening. An overwhelming sense of dread washed over him. His heart rate increased so much he could feel it beat. Before he knew it, he was falling down the familiar rabbit-hole of anxiety. He was having a panic attack.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god no. The anxiety hit him like a freight train and the wind was knocked out of his lungs. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest and his body began to tremble. Deep breaths, Sherlock, he told himself as beads of sweat started appearing on his face and body and dampening his shirt. Sherlock sank to the floor and clenched the fabric of his trousers as he tried to pull himself out of it. His chest was heaving and his mind was racing, full of thoughts that gave him more and more of a sense of panic. Oh god. Without warning, he let out a sob. And then another and another before tears were streaming down his face and Sherlock sat with his back against the kitchen table, head hanging down, holding his knees to his chest, panicking.

That was how John found him.

“Sherlock?” he asked, “Are you alright?” 

Sherlock tried to respond. He was still shaking uncontrollably, and the waves of panic were coursing through his mind. He took a deep breath and forced out the words: “P-Panic attack”. 

A wave of understanding passed across John’s face and his instincts kicked in immediately. His medical training had prepared him for all sorts of situations and all of it rapidly flashed before him. _‘Patients will be very anxious and unable to think clearly as well as extremely sensitive therefore it is best to ask their permission before touching them. It is important to distract the patient and engaging them in a conversation does so. Asking the patient to state five things they can see, four things they can touch, three things they can hear, two things they can smell and one thing they can taste helps the patient be aware of their surroundings and gives them a sense of security.’_ He got down on his knees and knelt beside Sherlock. 

“Sherlock,” he said, “I’m going to help you get through this. I need you to do something for me, okay?”

Sherlock managed to give a small nod. John bent slightly and offered him his hand. Sherlock hesitated before tentatively placing his hand in John’s. Using his other hand to steady Sherlock, John pulled him onto his feet. He led him to the armchair and Sherlock almost collapsed into it. John pulled the chair kept for clients next to him and sat down, never once letting go of Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock was a ghostly pale and his face was shining with sweat. His eyes were blank but there was fear present and they darted around the room like those of a frightened animal. It was unsettling for John, they had been in many dangerous situations and had even had brushes with death but he had rarely seen Sherlock look this way. But he had to remain calm and help Sherlock through this so he said: “I need you to talk to me, tell me--hm--let’s go with five things you can see”. John’s voice was low and confident but gentle and comforting at the same time. “Make deductions about them, if you’d like.”

“S-scuff marks on the floor, c-caused by moving the chair too often, small t-tea stain on the carpet from yesterday m-morning judging by the colour, M-Mrs Hudson dusted the coffee table l-last Monday, judging by the amount of d-dust gathered,” Sherlock turned towards John, took a deep breath and stammered out, “Y-You had a n-night out with S-Stamford last night, and you’ve l-lost about a kilo and a h-half of weight”.

John gave a soft chuckle. “Good,” he said soothingly. “Now four things you can touch.”

“T-the fabric of my trousers--it’s Upland cotton, the embroidery of the armchair is a unique t-type of surface embroidery, originating in R-Russia.” Sherlock pushed the cuff of his sleeve up and let his hand rest on his pulse for a while. “My p-pulse rate is 110 BPM, higher than average b-but expected, given the s-situation.” He turned John’s hand over and brushed his trembling fingers over John’s. There was a rather deep wound there and he let his hand run over it. “Y-You’ve got a scar on your index finger from a kitchen knife, it looks about three d-days old.”

“Keep going, three things you can hear,” 

“The traffic, it's currently r-rush hour, there’s construction happening at the end of the street, the tap downstairs is running--Mrs Hudson is doing the dishes,”

John noted with approval that colour was slowly coming back to Sherlock’s face and he was stammering less, but he decided it was best to finish the exercise regardless.

“Two things you can smell,” John continued.

“Mrs Hudson is b-baking, she put a pie in the oven about 15 minutes ago, and uh, your cologne” Sherlock hesitated and something akin to sadness passed over his face for just a second. “Y-You have a d-date tonight. You s-should go, I’ll be fine.” 

“Sherlock, I’m not leaving you. I’m cancelling the date, you are obviously not fine even if the panic attack is over” John said. Sometimes getting Sherlock to understand people cared about him, _he_ cared about him was so frustrating.

“You don’t have to. I let this get out of hand, I let my feelings and my fears overpower my rational mind. _My_ brain. I’m supposed to be the world’s only consulting detective, a genius, yet I can’t seem to understand when I’m not even in real danger. This isn’t the first time you know, it happens so often and I lose all control over myself, every single time.” Sherlock’s voice was distraught and he looked embarrassed. He paused, his face becoming unemotional once more and said, “But I am fine now. You should go. I am sorry, I know I’ve probably made you late.” 

There was a pause, where John simply stared at Sherlock in utter disbelief.

Finally, he said “You know, for a genius, you can be incredibly thick sometimes. Sherlock, I _want_ to stay with you. There’s no reason to apologise. Loads of people have panic attacks, there are many reasons why it may have happened but it has nothing to do with your intelligence. You are still the world’s greatest consulting detective, and the best and wisest man I have ever known. I know it can be frustrating,” John thought back to when he had first come back to London after retiring from the Army and how awful all the panic attacks from his PTSD were. His tone changed and became sombre. “Believe me, I know the feeling of despair and fear that you feel and how ridiculous you feel when you know it can’t hurt. But it stopped, Sherlock. When I met you, I left my cane behind to run around chasing criminals with you, and eventually, the nightmares and the panic attacks stopped. You saved me in so many ways that night, Sherlock. So I’m staying because I want to help you and be here for you and I will, I promise I will.”

Another pause. Sherlock’s head was still hanging down and he looked lost in his thoughts. Except it was nothing like what he looked like when he was working on a case. His face would be expressionless and distant, but John would still be able to see in Sherlock’s eyes the rapid deductions he was making or the theories that were forming. No, this was something much more different. Sherlock was looking at the ground and it was clear he still felt ashamed. John felt a strong need to protect Sherlock, though he wasn’t sure from what exactly. 

“Sherlock, look at me,” he said, putting his hand underneath Sherlock’s chin and tilting it upwards, forcing Sherlock to meet his eyes, before he leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. The kiss was chaste and sweet and filled with warmth and tenderness and reassurance that everything was going to be alright. And when Sherlock didn’t pull away and nervously kissed back instead, John brought his other hand up to Sherlock’s face to cup it. They kissed for a few seconds and when they pulled back their cheeks were slightly pink, more from shyness than anything else, and they had small smiles on their faces.

“It’s going to be okay,” John reassured him.

Sherlock nodded. He felt relieved and comforted, even though he knew John would never mock him especially for something like a panic attack. He knew it would be ok, especially with John there with him-- his doctor, his best friend, and now maybe even something more.

“And um, that was fine, right?” John asked. “ Sorry I, uh, should have asked first,” he stammered and blushed.

“No, no, it was more than alright,” Sherlock replied a little too hastily. 

“Good. Because we never finished the grounding exercise.” 

Sherlock looked at John inquiringly.

“One thing you can taste,” he said with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> My tumblr is thequirkyotter :)


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